Volunteer
by HedgeNinja
Summary: Warning! DMC spoilers! Bootstrap's attempt to shield Will from punishment on the Dutchman goes badly wrong. Why? Because Davy Jones is a nasty critter. Rated T for violence, some language. Reviews, comments, flames welcomed.
1. Volunteer

"You want to share his punishment!" The offer given in warning.

"I'll take it all!" The counter-offer.

"It's five lashes that are owed, either by your hand...or the bo'suns" Davy Jones declared, ending all negotiations. A pause, then as Jones opened his mouth to give the order Bootstrap heard himself say "No! I'll do it".

Taking the whip, trying to block out the anticipatory gleam in Jones' eyes and the look of shocked betrayal on Wills face as the crew spread-eagled him against the mast, securing his hands.

The unreality of the situation as his shirt was torn off his back was shattered shortly after by the first stroke, the sound of the lash cutting across the rain and spray.

'_Just breath' _ Will told himself, fighting to suck in air through teeth clenched against a scream, the spray of salt mist igniting the lines of fire newly crossing his back.

Bootstrap tried not to think about the job at hand except to pray to any Gods he might ever have believed in that Will would forgive him for this, for trying to spare him the bo'suns skill, who took entirely too much pleasure in causing pain. He could only offer small mercies, preventing the stripes from touching and trying to deliver the blows as lightly as he dared.

He could let the matter end there Davy Jones thought as the final stroke landed. A routine punishment and back to the work that needed doing. But cruelty and entertainment were bastard lovers on this ship of the damned…and the chance for some sport was too good to pass up.

"'Tis a noble thing, a father offering to take the punishment of his son" he mused out loud, halting Bootstraps move to assist in freeing the boy. "And no doubt ye' son's a fine young man who'd make the same offer for his father in a heartbeat." "So I believe" he continued, drawing out his final words to savour the look of dawning realization on Bootstraps face "that there are five more lashes still owing here".

The crew laughed in approval and hatred blazed in Bills eyes for a moment before he turned to try and bring himself to continue the nightmarish game, then at Jones' nod the bo'sun stepped forward shouldering Bill aside and pulling the whip from his grasp.

"No need Mr. Turner. Can't ask you to carry out your own sentence after all".

There was defiance on the boy's face as he looked over his shoulder at what was about to come. If there was fear he was hiding it well. Well, sport was more fun when there was spirit there to be broken. It would fail soon enough on the Dutchman.

Perhaps it was insane but he had to do something. Anything rather than simply stand and see Will suffer.

"Let him be, Jones" Bootstrap called, dodging around the bo'sun to stand squarely between him and Will. "Whatever you want from this, use me". Trying to keep his voice neutral, free of any desperation he was feeling.

"Move aside!" growled the bo'sun as the whip lashed out. Bill ducked his head to save his eyes and gritted his teeth at the streak of pain across his neck and shoulder but stood his ground. Hoping the captain's attention could be diverted by an unresisting target.

It could have been a tempting offer Jones thought, but it lacked leverage. Every man on board was a captive target, willing or unwilling. To back down now would be seen as just that, and an undesired show of mercy. The bo'sun reached the same conclusion as he stepped forward and brought the whip butt around viciously across Bootstraps face, staggering him, followed by a gut shot that knocked him to his knees. At Jones' summoning nod two crewmen hauled Bootstrap over, the smile gone from the captain's face.

"This goes as hard as you want it to _Mr. Turner_, and there'll be another five lashes for insolence to a direct order. _Don't_ make a challenge where you can't win" Jones snarled, biting off every word. "Bo'sun!" Without looking as Bootstrap was dragged round to watch the show, still held, he strode along the deck halfway to Will for a better view.

The bo'suns cruelty was inventive, each stroke deliberately placed to carve bloodied cross hatches across earlier lines, the lash's tip curling to lick around armpit and sides, tearing flesh.

3…4…5…Breathing was a luxury rapidly slipping away. Driving spikes sending shards of pain radiating outwards like a cracked mirror. Gasps as the breath was knocked from him lurching to whimpers, staggering towards a scream, refusing that final step.

…6…7…

Davy Jones watched, enjoying the agonized tremors following every stroke, reflexively jerking against roped wrists, the fight to keep silent. And the pain of helplessness naked on Bootstraps face.

At 8 his lashed wrists were the main reason for still being upright, his footing unsteady as vision hazed to black and white flashes.

…9…10…

No screams, well there would be other times. The game had been fun, and thanks to Sparrow the Dutchman would be the final port of call for the boy, no doubt it would be played again. Blood ran freely across skin under fresh and salt water drizzle, staining shirt remnants clinging to the boy's slumped figure before being lost in the wash of the deck.

"Back to work the lot of ye!" Jones barked as he turned to saunter unhurriedly to his quarters, not giving another glance to the scene. He knew it would be taken care of.

Bootstrap tore himself free, running across the deck uncaring of any other goings on beyond getting to Will. _Gods my fault, my stupid dammed fault… _

The pain at his wrists was an almost welcome distraction, letting him lean against the rough wood of the mast as sweat mixed with blood sending shivers of reaction through him.

"Easy lad easy. I've got you". Hands loosing his bonds, his arm across a shoulder holding him up, staggering to keep his feet and trying not to flinch away as his father reached an arm across his chest trying to take his weight while avoiding his lacerated back.

Neither of them spoke, avoiding each others eyes as Bootstrap led the way carefully across the crowded deck towards the main hatch. Will supposed he should be hating the man, but it was too much to deal with right now. Passing out somewhere for a while seemed the only likely activity for the near future.

This wasn't a place for the living thought Bootstrap. He'd do what he could to treat Wills injuries but he had to get him free from the ship as soon as possible, away from being Jones' new favourite source of amusement. Perhaps he'd manage to ease some of his own guilt; he doubted forgiveness was coming any time soon. Certainly not from himself.


	2. Aftermath

Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean belongs to Disney and the talented creators, cast and crew. I'm just pirating around the edges for fun because I loves it so. No profit, no sue.

Author Notes: These should have gone at the start but I was still figurin' out this whole posting thing. It started as a one shot then someone said they liked it so I tried to think of more ways to screw with the characters. Ch. 3 and semi-sequel coming soon...

* * *

The brig or at least the storage cranny Bootstrap decided as they descended to the lower decks. While it was located in the darkest, foulest part of the ship (which was saying a lot), and there were life-forms growing down there even the crew didn't want adorning themselves (which said a lot more), it also had the advantage that no-one went there unless forced to, thus giving them the closest thing to privacy on board. 

Above him Will missed his footing, skidding off the last half of the ladder and biting short a bark of pain as his back jarred against it. Bill threw out a hand to steady him. "Hold up. We're nearly there".

They hit the brig, Will sinking painfully onto the nearest heap of random junk piled in the small dimly lit chamber, the sullen blackness of the brig entrance hatch crouched in the far corner. Bill stood for a moment; half of him hoping like hell no-one realized he was officially still on duty and came looking for them, the other half suddenly being struck by realization. The rumour had been all over the ship as they'd left their last 'appointment'-the captain had taken someone on board not bound in service to escape impending death. His brain only now registered what he'd seen that first instant he'd looked into his son's face. Even after only eight years you recognised the eyes of a walking dead man.

"It's you" he said, terribly afraid it would turn out to be a cruel mistake. "You swore no oaths to the Dutchman?" Will looked at him, his face unreadable except for the tension of pain and slowly nodded. "Yes". Reminding Bill why he'd been hunting privacy. So much he wanted to ask, knowing he had no right. Easier to focus on immediate issues.

"Will, I need to treat your injuries". Sitting down nearby somewhat hesitantly, well aware of the irony of this coming from the man largely responsible for their infliction. "There's a good chance they'll fester...here" gesturing to the Dutchman at large and realising as Will nodded again that there was going to be absolutely nothing useful on board. No-one medicked dead men. Not even a bottle…Shit. Items were occasionally 'souvenired' from wrecks, possibly even alcohol; but such items tended to end up in a certain cabin…More shit.

'Good' and 'bad' were suddenly very inadequate terms for how this night was going. Bill rose, not wanting to increase the risk of discovery by delay. "I need to get some things. I'll be back as soon as I can; I doubt they'll look down here". Will's mouth twisted. "I'm not going anywhere".

He managed to bluff his way past the crewman on station at the captain's door, mostly he suspected due to Grin's reasoning that if Bootstrap wanted to go looking for trouble by approaching the captain who was he to stand in the way of more potential free entertainment that night?

"Mr. Turner, there are 2 hours of your watch still to go are there not?" Jones enquired as the door closed rapidly behind Bill. The room was quiet but for occasional soft tones from the organ in time to the creak and roll of the hull.

"Yes Captain". Damn. So much for not being noticed.

"Then what matter of 'overwhelming urgency'", tones of warning, "leads you to neglect your duty for the second time in one evening?"

"The boy's..condition needs attention. I..came to ask for alcohol" Tread carefully; act like it's a routine request.

"Did you now. And why would there be grog on a ship full of dead men?" Jones' enquiry lazily mocking.

"I thought perhaps there might be some, from previous salvages"

"And if there were, why would I be givin' it to ye'?" Playing like an idly circling shark, no way of knowing which way it would go when the shark became bored.

"He can't work now, but he could if…" Not a good direction for this conversation, Bill tried to ignore the warning bells. Silence wasn't an option and he was all out of arguments, they both knew it.

Jones gave a snort of laughter. "Perhaps he could. However as it happens Mr. Turner your solution will not be needed. We have another engagement. Some distance, we'll make better time once we dive. Wouldn't want to miss it. But don't worry" he continued, enjoying the look of horror that crossed Bootstrap's face for the second time that night "Perhaps with luck we can return for your lad, under terms that will make him a much better crew member _in the long run_".

He thought he'd never be colder than the chill that had become a part of him on taking his oath, but desperation ran like ice through Bill's body at that moment. "No" he breathed. "Please-" falling silent, the look in the captain's eyes telling him clearly that another word spoken and the threat would become a reality.

"What's it worth to you Mr. Turner?" Jones enquired softly, holding up a bottle he'd taken from one of the cabinets scattered along the cabin walls. "Perhaps it's what you need, perhaps it's not. But then, beggars can't be choosers".

Payment in pride then. He's playing you. And if he doesn't win, Will dies. You don't have to do this. I'll do worse before I'm free of this place. Why start now? Why hold onto what's already gone? It's all you've got.

No. It's not.

Dropping to one knee, then two, bowing his head and forcing the words out as they bit and scratched in protest. "Please Captain I ask this mercy. For the life of Will, I am..begging you not to submerge the ship. Please".

He kept his head down, not wanting to know what played across Jones' face in the following seemingly endless silence.

"You will stand the next watch Mr. Turner to make up for the one you missed. You will also be part of the boarding party until I say otherwise, and you will bear responsibility for culling those unfit or unwilling to serve. Are those orders quite clear?"

"Yes Captain, they're clear". After all, why give that job to any one of the crew who enjoyed such slaughter when you could give it to someone else.

The captain's presence at the edge of his vision, the bottle dangling in front of him. "Dismissed". Fist to forehead in salute Bill took it, forcing his hand steady despite the relief washing through him and scrambled for the door, not looking back.

Based on the evenings' previous events he supposed that should probably count as 'looking up'.

* * *

Comments? bring 'em on. Makes cute pirate eyes> 


	3. Coversations

Volunteer Chapter 3

Will looked up in alarm as Bootstrap stepped through the entranceway, then relaxed in recognition. "Here" Bill handed him a couple of hanks of the cleanest cloth he'd been able to 'borrow'; both dripping. "It's water, mostly fresh. Better than nothing anyway" Will nodded gratefully, as he began wringing the liquid into a cupped hand. He'd managed to get his shirt off, Bill noted, which wouldn't have been fun. Ironically it was the cleanest thing around though. He hooked it over, stripping off as much material as possible and patching the back, using an also 'borrowed' sail-mending kit. It might look ridiculous but wearing it was the only way he could think of for Will to keep any kind of dressing on under his jerkin. Especially while on deck-he knew Jones' 'generosity' wouldn't extend to a free ride for the boy.

He looked up to see Will watching him and made a show of examining and opening his final 'prize'. Rum, best quality, he'd checked as soon as he'd left Jones' quarters. At least it had been worth the visit. And it helped to postpone a conversation he had no idea how to start, equally sure he couldn't cause Will any more pain with things unspoken between them.

"Medical purposes" he said, offering it. "Helps treat damn near anything on board". Will ignored it. "So tell me _father_, will this 'treatment plan' of yours work as well as your last plan?" Sarcasm not masking anger or the clear demand for an answer in his eyes.

"Gods I'm sorry Will" The words spoken without thinking. "I wanted to spare y-I never thought it would go bad like that. If I hadn't pushed Jones he mightn't have…I'm sorry". He made himself meet Will's eyes, unable to offer anything more than honesty.

Will looked at him for a long moment, made to shrug then thought better of it, wincing. "I guess if this one works out we'll call it even" He managed a half smile "You did what you could".

Bootstrap nodded slowly, swallowing some suspiciously non-piratical emotions and seizing on the task at hand as a welcome distraction. "Keep the bottle. I'll get it as I need to".


	4. Clues

The bo'sun had done his work well, the flesh cruelly torn where raw welts overlapped. Bootstrap worked methodically, trying to be as gentle as he could but he knew what got braided into that whip when the bo'sun was bored-coral, bone, all of it potentially a death sentence from infection. He found himself talking to fill in the silence, early days aboard the Pearl, the mutiny (not the full story, that would never be heard from himself, or Jack he thought) and how he'd come to be on the Dutchman. Safe non-loaded topics, although he desperately wanted to be the one asking rather than answering questions.

When the job was done, the bottle of rum was rather depleted, having been liberally applied internally and externally; he was heartily wishing he'd been able to sample some of it himself. He was proud (he had no right to be, but he was) of the boy's courage though, his jaw had stayed locked beyond muffled groans, and the occasional turn of phrase whose colour impressed even Bootstrap.

"How is it that you're here?" he asked eventually, not wanting to press the issue but unsure when they might have another chance to talk. Life on board the Dutchman was 'unpredictable' to say the least.

"Jack Sparrow" Will's voice somewhat slurred from pain and 'medicinal rum'. "We became acquainted over getting the Black Pearl back"

Bill nodded "He mentioned". Suddenly realizing what he'd just said.

"He wh-!" Will stared at him "You saw Jack? When?"

Bill cursed mentally. So Jack had kept that little piece of information to himself had he? No doubt he hadn't mentioned a lot of other things too about the Dutchman.

"Jones sent me to deliver a message. To Jack"

"The mark?"

"Aye. Jack owes him a debt. Why did he send-"

"He sent me" Will's voice was flat "To settle it for him. That's what he _suggested_ to say".

"You double-crossing son of a bitch Jack" Bill whispered, furious. He'd thought there were limits to who Jack might sell out. Apparently he'd been wrong. "Then how did you escape taking oath?"

"I don't know" Will admitted. "Jones never offered me the choice"

"Then you have to leave. Forget Jack. He can take care of himself" Especially when he's chosen to sell out your own son.

"I can't. Jack has something I need. And I need this to trade for it" Will pulled out a scrap of parchment with a design scrawled on it.

They were both surprised when a voice came from the deck planks above them like the murmur of the sea from the curved interior of a shell.

"The deadman's chest".

* * *

That's all for this cheerful story arc. But there will be another semi-sequal out of a later 'conversation' between Bootstrap and Davy Jones. 

Hope y'all enjoyed it.


End file.
